Wednesday, September 3, 2008

welcome, spawn of hollister ...

the other day i watched the spawn of hollister move into our neighborhood. it was a wholesome vision, really. he had apparently followed his parents to town in a hand-me-down jeep cherokee, yanking a rickety trailer filled with ... hell, who knows? an electric guitar, a bullhorn, a custom-made beer pong table tricked out with christmas lights, a case of code red mountain dew, axe body spray, beef jerkey and back issues of maxim -- if i had to guess.

his mom and dad and little brother unpacked the trailer and when i tried to drive past hollister politely shut the car door so i could eke through. and i thought: aw, how nice.

unfortunately, hollister is moving into the demon house across the street. and if i know that address -- which i do because it's the channel i turn to when i need something a little more real than reality tv -- the second i can't see his mom in my rear view mirror he is going to crack about 35 grain belt premiums and decide he hates the face of one of his party guests. that address brings out the crazy. even in the most pedestrian of b-average seeking, jv-varsity football quitting, parents-blaming-the-coach-and-petitioning-for-his-firing, eva-mendez-drooling, country-club-caddying, high-school-junior-girlfriend-having business major with a spanish minor.

the street is going to become engorged in some sort of two-backed beast display of ultimate fighting, the likes of which hasn't been seen since menudo's last slumber party. he's never going to get the stains out of that shirt.

i know these things.

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

I have 4 of these living across the street from me.

*sigh*

When ever one of them does something particularly typical of the genre, I turn to my wife and repeat my over-abused catchphrase "Every asshole in this town has an attitude..."

The part that bugs me the most is that the college kids know that they're only going to be here for a short time, so they act accordingly. What they're not understanding is that the lawn where they're puking up their Grain Belt Premium and throwing the cans is the lawn that my daughter played on for 10 years. This neighborhood is where I raised my family. It WASN'T created to be their personal, beer-soaked, open-at-all-hours, garbage-strewn playground. We don't OWE them the opportunity to act like this, simply because they're living in this town and going to school.

THAT'S why us old pharts like me get so upset about stuff like that.

Anyway, another year. Yippee.

Kristabella said...

I need to move to your street. Nothing happens on my street. Wah.

Beverly said...

I typed up several comments here and deleted them all. Curious.